


Poor unfortunate soul

by orphan_account



Series: Operation: Beautiful [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: ?? - Freeform, A bit of Magic, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Asshole Eddie Kaspbrak, Author Projecting, Body Shaming, Depressed Richie Tozier, Descriptions of eating, Eddie and Richie are married, Hallucinations, Hurt Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It is, Multi, Not that descriptive, Or Is It?, Or do you, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie has self esteem issues, Richie is chubby, Richie’s just hungry, Spouse Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Weight Issues, a lot of insulting, also, and weird, chubby!richie, next chapter might be kinda fucked, not Eddie Kaspbrak friendly, richie and Steve have a platonic relationship :), sorry :(, this is evil, yall probably already know where this plot is going, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22286299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s the morning after.Richie tries to have a nice breakfast.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Operation: Beautiful [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603288
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	1. A morning after 8

**Author's Note:**

> Okay- I read some reviews and, a lot of you are ‘angry’ but, I promise it will be better......soon :) !!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!

Dark had turned to dusk and the sleeping sound of crickets faded as birds began to awake from their nests and sing their sweet little songs.

It had been a peaceful night. No rain or thunder and the temperature had been at one of its very bests.

The residents of Beverly Hills slept comfortably in their beds, dreaming of their future fame and aspirations, until the sun began to pool through their curtain windows. Causing hundreds of people to roll out of warm beds with sleep, crusted eyes and dry mouths. 

Yawning and stretching as they pleased. The satisfaction of popping joints and orgasmic stretches almost lulling a few back to dream land before their bladders reminded them to get up. Or stomachs rumbled for sustenance.

The day was beginning. And many felt different about it.

Some awoke feeling like today would be ‘the best day ever’ and skipped to their car to find the nearest coffee shop that wasn’t already slammed with other residents heading to work. Happy and content- for the time being. 

Ready and willing.

Normal people rolled out of bed with the same mind frame they’ve always had. Breakfast. Shower. Teeth. Dressed. Work. Lunch. Work. Home. The same old same old as they had been doing for the past 364 days. But, maybe, they’d switch it up today.  
Instead of getting a bagel and coffee- maybe some would get a tea and granola. Or something sugary, a donut, to indulge themselves.

Comfortable but, ready to move.

And the people were all like that outside of the house. 

All smiles, sometimes fake, and cheery attitudes that just made California shine so much brighter. Making others who lived far and wide want to move into one of the many expensive houses in search of those smiles for themselves.

Few have even just up and quit their jobs, or left their families, to move to California on a whim. No real promise of a home or happiness- just because they read one magazine and thought, ‘Hey, that could be me!’

So, the people move to California and, low and behold, it’s actually not as spectacular as social media had claimed it to be.

Yes, the hills and beaches are full of beauty. As well the sunrises but, what of the over crowded cities? And homeless? As well the shitty, rundown homes only the poor could afford that cost close to a million, of which that is the lowest price?  
What’s someone from Georgia, or Illinois going to do with the increased market value? They get paid only so much in their own state that the money they have now couldn’t even compare to the thousands middle class Californians make each year!

Maybe if they take two, three? jobs it would work out.

Or get famous.

There’s only two options.

Oh, what a dilemma that must be for the poor, unfortunate souls that flock to the sunny state.

Faces fresh and mind full of confidence arhat will soon be destroyed..

And it’s all because the people of California catered to the subconscious need to live a perfect utopian life without worries or accidents. Giving outsiders what they want to see and, leaving out the not so tasteful parts.

Just like a real estate agent lying to a newly married couple about the quality of their ‘flood proof’ basement. 

As related to what John Mulaney once said. ‘ They were young, shinny, dumb, and easy to trick. It’s not my fault they didn’t read the fine print!’ 

And, just like that, the utopian life many had oh so longed for is crushed.

Abandoned like a plastic grocery bag...

Richie Tozier thought that would be his life after getting married to the man he’s loved since kindergarten.

Colorful with a few bumps in the road, not many, that only helped strengthen their relationship. For the better. 

He thought his life would be nice, warm, and free. That the fear that weighed on his shoulders every waking moment for the past twenty-seven years would...disappear into a cloud of smoke..

Leaving in its wake a field of sunshine and rainbows...

But, now, having not slept a wink that night- too busy thinking about previous events and how Eddie had strictly wanted him to sleep in a separate room- Richie was starting to believe his life was nothing more than a joke.

Something sick and gooey that slipped through people’s hands. A clay that they could mold to make into whatever they wanted and tear it apart without having to put it back together. Thinking that if they just stick it back together in the container the pieces will all just gradually conjoin on their own and, when they go to play with it again, everything will be how it was the first time they touched it. 

Lumpy, misshapen, and squished. But still very much enjoyable to play with.

Though, what some have failed to know is that, if you leave the clay out of the container without putting it up, and you’ve already torn it to pieces, it will dry. And it will stay that way.

Only idiots do that.

Now, you have no clay to play with and only hard, cracking bits of colorful rock that wouldn’t even look good in the most diverse gardens decor. Unusable and destined for the trash can.

Richie felt like one of those rocks. 

Old, dried out, and useless. Ready to be thrown away. 

Ready to lay in a pool of tears forever.

...

The sun apparently didn’t get the memo and a blinding flash of yellow, lava light dropped through his blinds. Skimming across the skin of his eyelids and warming his pupils.

It was uncomfortable.

Richie groaned. Turning over to look at his bedside clock he shielded his eyes. Squinted. Then put on his glasses.

Red numbers flashed 8:30 am. Early for Richie to be awake but the right time he had to get up.

Cupping the bottom of his hot, sore stomach Richie shifted himself onto the side. 

Blinking out the fuzzy floaters from his vision- his stomach gurgled. 

It was loud, and made Richie want to throw up. He felt a bit of bile rise in his throat, causing it to sting from how raw last nights events had made it, and was instantly reminded at how bad the taste of stomach acid burned on his tongue, and quickly swallowed.

The bile stung his throat on the way back down.

Eyeing the ring stains of previous drinks on his bedside table, Richie wished he had forced himself to get a glass of water before he had dragged himself to bed.

It would of been a pain then but, now Richie was cursing his past self.

So, instead of throwing up, Richie rubbed his finger tips in soft circles on the side of his gut- ‘ you’re just so fucking fat, Riche! I mean, look at this gut!’- and slowly breathed out of his nose. 

Repeating the process for a number of minutes until the nausea went away.

A bird chirped out side and the sounds of cars driving up and down his street started to become more constant.

Going to work, most likely....Its what he should of done ten minutes ago.

A buzzing on his dresser proved his theory correct as it was, most likely, being filled with messages from his short, angry manager.  
Possibly about how he was ‘supposed to be at his early meeting an hour ago’ or some stupid shit like that.

He didn’t really feel in the mood to argue with anyone today, let alone Interact but, with the way his phone kept non stop buzzing and the sounds of gentle snoring that was muffled through the wall adjacent to him said other wise. 

His stomach gurgled again.

The comedian cranked his neck off the bed to stare down at his belly. He poked it once, hiding his cringe when it sunk deeper into his body than expected, and huffed. “ I guess you would be hungry, huh?...with what happened last night, I...uh.” Richie trailed off as the activities of the night before came rearing to the front of his mind.

....What the fuck DID happen, exactly?

He’d been eating, yeah. Dinner with Eddie. They’ve been having dinner together for the past eight months- they’d started the ‘tradition’ three months before Richie had gotten down on one knee, to confess his love, and Eddie had uttered the two words that would bind them together till death.

It was very dramatic.

But, what changed? 

Richie made dinner. It was simple and very much less fancy than what Eddie always made but, the other man never complained, not once, about what Richie made for them.

He always tried to choose the best- healthiest- choice and tried to limit the use of salt or any other fattening spice to none.

Cause, truth is, he had noticed the diet pamphlets that’d been lying around the house. He would take pictures of the simplest diet foods they had and lay it back down.

Not thinking much more of it until, a new one would take the old pamphlets place, and he would just take more pictures of recipes. Then repeat.

So, yes. He did see the many diet guides Eddie had laid out for him but, he took it as a helping clue as to what Eddie likes to eat....Not what HE should be eating....

And, Richie guesses, maybe he should of taken that into account.

He’d been meaning to change his lifestyle, anyway. Just never had the time...until, Eddie came.  
Perhaps, Richie should thank him. Or, the very least, let Eddie indulge in his health craze to fix Richie’s messed up nutriment. 

Maybe....-

‘ Just open your mouth, Richie...Open it and, i can make you beautiful again, please...’

‘ Oh, just do it, Richie. I promise it wont hurt...much.’ 

...- No!

No.....

Richie wouldn’t let Eddie do that to him- for him. He was a grown ass man. He could feed himself. Work out and buy healthy foods.

Himself.

He didn’t need Eddie. Didn’t need his...weird ways of dieting...nor the hurtful banter that went along with it.

Richie was strong.

“ I don’t need him....”

Oh, but he did.

Richie wanted the attention. He wanted the kisses, he wanted the love. He wanted to be selfish, for once, and make Eddie hold him for hours.

He wanted it all but...he knew he didn’t deserve it.

The hand caressing his stomach vibrated.

A chuckle escaped Richie’s lips, head falling back onto the pillow with a muffled ‘thwump!’

“ Oh, shut up, tubby....I’ll feed you in a minute.”

\- ‘ you fucking pig! -

The words, coming from his own lips, didn’t feel hurtful. It actually ignited a little bit of happiness in his chest. Something that hadn’t occurred when Eddie had...basically called him the exact same thing.

He was not skinny, anymore- he knew that. But, at the same time, he wasn’t fat. 

Chubby. That’s what he was and- Jesus- is this how Ben felt when he was a kid? 

All confused and sad one minute and, then accepting and happy the next? 

If so, how exhausting...maybe he should call Ben after breakfast? Talk him about it and see if the haystack had any advice.

It would be nice...considering the fact Richie had hardly spoken to any of the other Losers since defeating IT.

Practically a year ago, now that he thought about it.

Strange.

His phone had stopped taking calls a few minutes ago- voice box full- and now was repeatedly blaring with the obnoxious text tone he had set, even after Eddie specifically told him he hated it. 

Richie thought it was hilariously at the time.

However, getting a load of the constant chiming of ‘dick in a box~’, he was staring to agree.

Richie would never confess that to Eddie’s face directly.

Never.

He laid in the sun for a few extra seconds. Absorbing the warmth into his chilled bones like an old lizard in the winter time. 

It was only til the feel of his face blistering did Richie force himself to move.

Wiping away tear, crusted dust from the corners of his eyes, Richie braced a hand on the mattress and pushed himself up and was instantly hit with a wave of dizziness.

He swayed on the palm of his hand and scrunched up his nose. “ Woah...” And he sat like that for a few short seconds.

“ I....I do not like that..!” Richie panted, his arm shaking now as he tried to get up.

Feeling lethargic, Richie was positively NOT up for a day full of meetings, planning rehearsals, writing and planning meetings but, wallowing in his own self pity hurt more than getting a work induced headache.

So, off to work he would go.

Tossing away the covers, he was bombarded with a shock of cool air against his boxer clad thighs. 

He cursed a bit and shuddered but swung his legs over the side of his bed. 

Careful not to make much noise from the springs as he stood up and searched for a pair of socks to calf his frozen toes with.

Shuffling to his drawer, Richie snuck a peak at all the messages on his phone. Laughing quietly to himself at the most recent one from his manager.

‘ I don’t know what’s up with you, shit wad but, If you don’t at least show up today at either times between 9am or 6, I’m quitting. This is it. I’m tired of your fucking bullshit! I woke up at 5am to get dressed and drive all the way from my condo to have a meeting with Netflix officials about YOUR SPECIAL and you didn’t even BOTHER to tell me you wouldn’t be here! Fucking made me look so unprofessional in front of them when they asked if you’d be joining us to, again, talk about getting YOUR FUCKING SPECIAL aired!  
Jesus Christ, I hope you fucking crash your car on the way over here, you dick! See you soon.’

Richie’s nostrils flared with a chuckle and swiped up on an incoming message. Scanning it quickly- a dopey smile nearly split his face in half.

It was another message from Steve- Steven with a heart respectively set as his contact.

‘ Actually, I don’t hope you crash your car. You’re my only successful client and I prefer kicking your ass more than I would with Sally’s. The poor girls like a puppy. I don’t think I have the heart to talk to her the way I do to you- she’s really sweet. Not a annoying sewer rat, like you.  
Anyway, don’t crash your car. AND MAYBE RESPOND TO ONE OF MY TEXTS SOON, okay?  
Okay. Love you, bye.’

Richie brought his fingers to his lips and felt a warm heat build up in his stomach as he typed out a response.

‘ wouldn’t miss it for the world, sir Steven. I humbly apologize for ignoring your many calls and messages but, I’m afraid I was a little...’occupied’ last night- if you know what I mean ;)- and forgot to set an alarm.  
Again, my mistake. It won’t happen again.  
See you in a few. Love you too <3 ~’

He sent the text and placed the phone, face down, on his furniture. 

Heart beating out of his chest when the ‘dick in a box’ ring tone went off seconds after. And then again.

Richie smirked to himself and bent down to open his sock drawer but, was not surprised to find it empty of everything but a bent paper clip.

Dang...oh well, guess he had an excuse to wear his sandle’s now.

Richie shrugged to himself and pulled out the first outfit that caught his eye- a pair of black jeans and a lose fitting blue button up- and threw them on.

Taking care of how the tight spots of his shirt dug into the creases of his back rolls. Picking and pulling at his look until the fabric had been stretched to it’s full capacity.

He looked down at him self with a frown.

‘Jesus, it’s like he was turning into an actual teenage girl! Pathetic!....Maybe one day he’ll wake up to find that his man boobs- he doesn’t even have any- have turned into actual boobs.

‘Wouldn’t that be a spectacle?’

Richie brushed stray strands of hair out of his face and groaned as he bent down the snag the sandals beside his bedroom door.Back cracking loudly.

After slipping on his shoes, getting a big whiff of stale vomit and BO pooling off of his skin, Richie sprayed himself with a shit ton of cheap men’s cologne. Stopping once the room began to fog up and he started to cough.

Richie opened a window to let it air out and headed into the bathroom.  
Making sure not to step on the pile of clothes smeared in chunks of digested chicken and rice, Richie wet his face with some hot water.

Washing away a steam of dry drool and yellow vomit from his chin til the skin turned a bright, irritated pink.

He tamed his rat nest hair with a comb and gel. Styling in a way he normally wouldn’t, slicked back with a small curl in the middle of his forehead.

‘ Fat Elvis, baby.’

Admiring himself in the mirror, Richie gave his reflection finger guns and a half serious ‘ Looking good, handsome.’

But, he wasn’t. His stomach hung out that the loose shirt he wore was straining to keep it in- but hadn’t it just been loose seconds ago?- and the rolls of pudge on his back could easily be seen from miles away at the cloth hugged them like a long lost relative would.

Disgusting pig.

It was that moment his stomach rumbled, again, Richie was reminded he had not eaten breakfast. Nor did he have anything left over in his stomach to digest.

He snapped out of his sort depressive stage.

Lightly patting his tummy, Richie tip toes out of his room, and past his sleeping husbands door to the kitchen.

Fully intended on eating a feast till the ache in his stomach was vanquished.

With a light suction noise He opened the fridge door. Glass bottles of wine, beer and sauces rattled against each other in the shelves. 

Creating a wind chime of different sounds as the liquids inside splashed around.

Richie’s nose twitched at the cold fridge air. He peered inside at the bags of fresh fruit and vegetables, all of which had not been there when he checked last, looking it over once, twice, and a third time too a leftover plate of chicken caught his eye.

Sniffing at it, he raised a brow.

-Burning in your throat, you fat pig, burn like ham-

His and Eddie’s left overs. Not the best breakfast choice but, considering-........it was something.

Richie scratched his stomach through his shirt and took the plate of chicken out. 

Setting it on the marble surface beside him he didn’t waste time in grabbing a fork and dug it.

Ripping the cold meat into smaller pieces with his bare fingers Richie stuffed his face. Chewing and swallowing the food like he was a wild animal that hasn’t eaten since the beginning of hibernation. 

Loud smacking and, the occasional, hiccup from eating too fast was the only thing making the utensils Inside their kitchen shelves rattle. 

Hey...it was good chicken.

He finished his first piece in under five minutes. Sloppily taking his time to lick the sauce off his fingers, and corners off his mouth before digging into the next one.

This time he just picked up the whole breast and took big bites out of it with his rounded, white teeth. Savoring it by sucking all the juices and sauce first and then swallowing the chicken after.

He ate the rest of the second with much more grace than his first. Wiping his fingers and mouth off with a paper towel this time, instead.

Halfway through his third piece, Richie’s throat started to tingle with the familiar pinch of that confusing spice. 

Richie coughed into his fist, making sure it was quiet enough not to reach their bedrooms, and set down his chicken. 

The fridge made another suction noise as Richie opened it but, considerably louder than last time.

He hurriedly looked over his shoulder into the pitch black. Listening closely for any sounds of a mattress springing or door closing. Ready to throw the meat in the trash and get rid of the paper towels if foot steps started heading his way. 

But, when none came, Richie reached for the half empty carton of milk and closed the refrigerator door softly.

Coughing into his arm, he unscrewed the milk cap and went bottoms up.

Tilting his head back in classic chugging fashion, Richie let the milk freely glide down his throat. Unconsciously moaning with every gulp he took. 

Richie took slight comfort in the way his rumbling stomach began to slowly grow less hungry as he drank.

No longer aching with empty air or rumbling for phantom calories.

Richie smiled through his drinking and started to tilt the gallon down. Popping it off his lips with a wet ‘slurp’ as he took deep, breathless gasps of air. 

A pink tongue licked his top lip clean of milk. He set the gallon down by his plate and continued eating.

The third piece of chicken went down smoothly as he chewed on it and drank the milk at the same time. 

Stomach beginning to ache by the start of his fourth piece, Richie decided to just chug the rest of the milk- which was only about an inch- and put the extra food away for later.

Setting the plate of food back on his fridge shelf- while taking his last few gulps of liquid, a lone moan escaping through his pauses to breathe, Richie failed to hear the sounds of a door hinge creaking open and the pitter patter of bare feet against tile come his away.

Gasping, Richie finished the milk.

Hunger satisfied, his belly happily gurgled as it began to digest his meal, he wiped off the excess sauce from his face and fingers, surprised none of it got on his shirt, and tossed the used paper towels away.

Just as he was about to pick up his keys and head off for work, a hard grip on his shoulder stopped him.

His spine turns to stone.

“ Richie..What. Are. You. Doing?”

Every punctuated word sends a throbbing pain through his head. 

Eddie’s strong, lean body molds into the curve of his back. His opposite hand, the one not currently digging half moons into his shoulder, crawls up Richie’s fleshy hip like a spider- sending him into a full body flinch- then comes to a stop at the top of his stuffed, jutting stomach.

Richie lets out an ashamed groan at the sudden pressure- unconsciously grasping his stomach and Eddie’s hand for comfort- and seems to sink back into Eddie’s hold. Comfortably.

The chaos that was last night completely smothered with the high of his own doing.

“ aaugh....Eds....Ed-die?” Richie manages to hiccup.” What...wh-ats guggf...uug.” 

Eddie rubs a circle around Richie’s belly button with a pointed pinkie nail, eyes burning holes into the back of Richie’s- fat fat fat fat fat fat fat- neck.

It should of been a comforting gesture. To help relieve the tightness of his stomach, but all Richie could think of was the phantom feel of a white knuckled grip plunging into his belly.

Sharp and hot. Like a fucking knife dipped in acid.

A low laugh thunders through his ears. 

“ oh...Richie. It looks like you’ve swallowed a bowling ball.” Eddie grips the small pudge on his husbands stomach, eyes glazing over with a milky yellow. He bites his lip.

“ How fucking disgusting, you pig...you cow....did you learn nothing from last night?” Eddie inquires making Richie turn to face the part of their living room they could see from the kitchen. 

Richie moans at the movement and Eddie quickly silences him with a jerk to the stomach.

“ Shut the hell up, pig...how can you even still stand the way you are?” Eddie’s nose twitches and growls angrily. The sound makes Richie’s ears ring with static.

“ So fat...obese....nearly immobile- your body can’t take much more but,...” He pauses to swipe a finger into one of the creases at the back of Richie’s neck. Eyes unblinking.

“...since you love to eat- to disobey me- so much...how about we- me-...you, have seconds?” Eddie’s smirk is sharp enough to cut a man in two, but Richie remains oblivious.

Fingers grip at the base of Richie’s chin. Similar to last night, they dig into his flesh like it’s soft dough. A wave of hot breath tickles his neck.

“ Get down on your knees, fat boy...it’s time to play!”

Richie’s brain turns fuzzy.

A kick to the back of his knee sends the comedian failing to the floor with a short yelp. His knee caps throbbing with pain as the fall jostles his stomach in a flurry of unhappy gurgles.

Eddie cackles behind him- and the sound of a familiar fridge door opening, the bottles rattling together, makes his skin grow cold.

Fuck.


	2. All work, no play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie goes to work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so bad and short! I’m sick and the past few weeks have been a mess and today was the only day that I actually felt good enough to write so, here you go! 
> 
> There are many ways someone might feel offended by this chapter so, if you are sensitive to weight related insults/force feeding/drinking, please reframe from reading!  
> Thank you! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy and all spelling mistakes are mine !

Richie left for work an hour after Eddie had kissed him goodbye. His phone was blowing up with calls and messages from Steve, asking where he was but, Richie just set the device in one of his cup holders and chose to ignore the constant buzzing against plastic that filled the empty noise.

He unconsciously rubbed at the fabric burns on his wrists while waiting at every red light.

~~~

Eddie, taking advantage of Richie’s moment of weakness, hurriedly grabbed an old dish rag of the counter and pinned Richie’s arms behind his back. Tightly knitting the rag that any circulation on his wrists dwindled to none.

Richie whimpered, trying to fight back, but Eddie squatted down beside him and gave his full stomach a good slap. Angrily gritting his teeth.

“Shut the fuck up, you cow. You fat fuck.” Eddie spit, grinning flesh between his thin fingers to shake and tug.” You’re such a greedy bitch, aren’t you? Eating all that fucking food!” He sneered.

Standing up, Eddie grabbed another full bottle of milk out of the open fridge. 

He smirked widely and kicked the door closed with his foot, while simultaneously popping off the milk lid and tossing it into the abyss that was beyond the bar.

Richie felt tears roll down his cheeks- not form just pain, but fear- as Eddie gripped his face- his fat fucking face!!!- in a fierce grip. Practically jerking his whole body to the side so he could look into Eddie’s dead, angry eyes.

They seemed to shine a dark, golden yellow in the dark. And it made Richie’s spine tingle.

“ Even your face has Rolls, pig! Jesus, did you get fatter over night?!” 

Richie swallowed thickly while Eddie tilted his head back. Crying out as the other man seemed to examine his face with a crazed, sharp smile.

“ No matter...after this,” Eddie shook the jug of open milk, spilling a little bit on the rug.” You won’t ever want to disobey me again!.” Eddie ripped his hand off Richie’s cheeks, leaving behind deep red scars, and got a fistful of curly hair on the back of Richie’s head.  
“You got that??”

Richie tried his best to nod, and had trouble swallowing as his head was tilted further back.” Yes, Eddie! I won’t do it again! Please, don’t hurt me! I’ll be good! I promise!”

His wails just ignited a deep, thundering rumble in Eddie’s chest. 

Richie felt his heart sink

~~~

Once the phone rang for the twelfth time- it seemed- Richie turned on the radio and distracted himself by tapping along to the beat of whatever song radio 98.1 decided to play between their millions of ads that day.

Micheal Jackson. Huh, not the worst.

But something.

Taking his mind away from reality for just a moment, he passed the time humming to himself.

‘ They told him don’t you ever come around here  
Don’t want to see your face, you better disappear  
The fire’s in their eyes and their words are really clear  
So beat it, just beat it ‘

He had started to wildly shake his head and mouth along to the lyrics that passerby’s in nearby cars pointed and laughed at him. Taking out their phones to record the idiot- later they would find out semi famous comedian- they saw on their way to work and post it to whatever social media they had to just have their other friends laugh and call him crazy.

Richie stopped dancing to rub a hand down the front of his neck, thinking.

‘Hopefully they didn’t get my bad side.’

~~~

“ Oh, Richie...you poor, ignorant, little cow....” Eddie teased, sticking the finger of his hand on Richie’s head into the fat crease of his husbands neck. “ Moo for me you fat bitch!”

Richie saw a flash of white plastic move out of the corner of his eyes and, before he could react, the plastic opening of a milk gallon cut into the softness of his lips and a white- cold and silk- liquid spilled down his throat.

It was so sporadic- unexpected- that half the milk came spilling out the sides of his mouth. Spewing milk- some back into the gallon of milk- over his front and the bare top of Eddie’s foot.

The milk gallon was forcefully pulled out of his mouth- nearly ripping a part of his tooth off- and Richie took that moment of freedom to take in big gasps of air through his milk dripping mouth. 

~~~

It took an hour of sitting through traffic before the sight of his managers building came into view and he was pulling into one of the reserved parking spaces.

While stepping out of the car his stomach gave a loud rumble- louder than the few he had this morning- that had Richie swaying on his feet.

Richie braced a hand against the top of his cherry red car and looked down at his stomach with a frown. He shushed it jokingly and gave his belly a small pat.

“ I’ll get something in ya soon, big boy.” Richie apologized to himself.” Promise.”

That was a lie.

Locking his car, Richie stumbled into the building with the grace of a baby deer. Hand still on his tummy as he entered the elevator and was lifted to Steve’s office. 

Passing the usual array of compliments donuts his mouth watered. The sugary smell filling his nose wrapped him in a blanket of warmth.  
Fingers already twitching at his sides to shove one of the fattening treats in his mouth he stopped short. An offending brown, paper bag that had a sticky note on it in Eddie’s hand writing sitting at the back of his mind. The contents inside of it unknown but, threatening. 

His lunch.

Richie didn’t get a donut.

~~~

“Fucking disgusting!” Eddie recoiled at the Saliva mixed milk droplets coating his foot.

“Fucking- You bitch! You did that on purpose!” He accused the man, as if Richie spitting up on himself was worth the embarrassment of getting Eddie’s foot a little wet.” Motherfucker!”

Without warning, Eddie gave Richie’s side a hard jab. The points of his finger tips searing like hot, iron nails into the soft skin .

Richie instinctively opened his mouth to scream, but was again caught unaware as the milk jug was shoved back between his lips. Practically thrusting a wave of liquid down his throat- like when a big wave hits you and the water sloshes up your nose.

This time- however- Richie let the milk glide down his throat...without a struggle. His stomach starting to feel like a balloon with too much air.

Eddie, however, laughed.  
“ I said moo! If you wanna eat like a cow, then you’re going to fucking act like one! Get on your knees and moo for me, bitch!”

Richie didn’t know how he was supposed to moo- given he was crying and had lines of milk dribbling down his chin- but his stomach clenched in anticipation.

One more hit to the gut- he was sure gonna up chuck.

Pulling the half empty jug away- Richie letting out a pathetic moan- Eddie shoved the man forward. And, without the use of his tied up hands to catch his fall, Richie ended up smacking himself face first into a Luke warm puddle of milk on his tiled kit he floor.

He swore he saw the flash of red for a split second...but blamed it on the trauma.

Eddie cackled at Richie’s grotesque, heavy panting, shame and got down on his own knees beside the over stuffed comedian.  
He ran a finger over the edge of Richie’s distended stomach, anger plus satisfaction in his eyes. 

“You’re stomachs so big, Jesus! From your meal it nearly rips your shirt off standing but....now, Richie...it’s nearly touching the ground!”

That, in truth, was false. The black shirt on Richie’s body hung off more than his stomach- which, if you looked at from the size, swelled slightly upwards from his hip bone. A small chunk of fat that could be lost, within a few weeks, if carbs were limited to none.  
But that was what any sane person would see- not the man himself.

Dragging his cheek through the puddle of milk to look at his stomach, Richie felt more tears spring to his eyes.

Eddie was right. 

What was once a barely noticeable- what he likes to call- ‘dad bod’, was now a hugely obese stomach the he could feel was pressing up into his- fat- chest off his- gargantuan- thighs while in his slumped position. The cool floor against pale skin made Richie’s whole body tingle in shame- even more so when those shivers cause his stomach to shake as well.

Like a....big, doughy mountain during an earth quake.

Maybe Eddie should knock is stomach in...just...just one more time.

One more.

~~~

Richie tried to not make a fool of himself while striding away from the pastries- heading to the bathroom- before making a quick, split second decision to go the opposite way.  
A bit of walking later- hey, he needed the exercise- Richie entered the office door labeled ‘Steve C.’ Without looking back.

Steve’s yelling about punctuality as soon as Richie walked through the door took his mind away from food in an instant and he didn’t think about how his stomach screamed for food for the rest of the meeting.

“ When’s the last time you had a cup of coffee?” Steve barked, tired of the way Richie’s head had begun bobbing halfway through the five minutes of their debriefing. 

The need to sleep was evident in Richie’s bruise looking eye bags, but there was no time for that.

He pit of his facade.” Hey, I told ya over the phone! Didn’t I? Got stuck up late with the ‘mrs’ last night, nothing to worry about- it was a one time thing.” He felt the familiar smirk settle on his lips, and finally relaxed back into his chair.  
“ You know how it is, right?”

By the Look Steve was giving him, Richie knew he didn’t....and, if Steve thought he did, Richie knew he would be wrong either way.

Oh well. 

What others don’t know won’t kill him- as he’d like to say. That would mean more time explaining and less time getting this fucking meeting over and done with....but, more time away from home.

Richie clasped his hands together and waited for his manager to continue. Surprisingly interested to ask a question over each new subject.

He wanted to be here til six.

Steve, ‘forgetting’ to ask what was on his mind, places a list of regulations- as well rules- on the table in front of Richie.

The comedian took it as an excuse not to meet Steve’s eyes but, even without looking up, the managers suspicious gaze burned holes into the middle of his forehead.

He pretended not to notice, and instead asked why their was a cussing limit on adult specials.

~~~

After being untied, Richie retreated back to his room- head hung down in shame- to find a new work shirt and pants.  
Eddie cleaned up the kitchen with a mop the man had bought two weeks ago, and scrubbed the lines in the stone free of crusted milk.

( This will be a clean house, Richie. We are not fam animals.)

Good thing it was easier to scrub of than dried vomit- or else, Eddie would have a cow...

No pun intended.

When Richie finally emerged from his room- pulling and picking at a ‘to tight’ black hoodie- Eddie handed him a brown paper bag- it was so light, Richie wondered if there was anything in there at all- and gave Richie a smile that made it seem as if he was a house wife sending his loving husband of to work.  
A happy, married couple that just..loved life.

( oh what Richie thought his life would be.)

Eddie pushed the paper bag into Richie’s chest and, before he could refuse, gave the tall man a kiss on the cheek while patting his back.

Richie pulled back as Eddie looked him up and down.

( fat fat fat, fat boy.)

“-ave a good day, Sweetie. I’m making soup for dinner so, make sure not to spoil yourself on lunch!”

Eddies giggle that followed used to strike such a loving feeling in Richies heart- something that would make him feel light as air and adored.  
But, now, all it did was signal a passive aggressive threat.

Richie nodded, dumbly with little emotion, and left for work. 

And didn’t kiss Eddie back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I hope was worth the weight! This story has barely reached the surface of what I’ve wanted it to be. The first two works are just the intro! It should’ve get better, as well more interesting, as the plot thickens! 
> 
> Sorry, again, for the long wait and bad writing but, I just want you all to know that everything is going fine and that this story is still in good hands!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and have a good one! :)

**Author's Note:**

> K- this is kinda sad :( 
> 
> But not as sad as me having my first meal of the day at 3:50pm....and it’s an ice cream sandwich. Ew.
> 
> Anyway, thank your for reading! Feedback is appreciated and I hope you have a good one :)!


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